Seven Rules for Ninjas
by IronAmerica
Summary: If your secretary is a ninja, you should keep him happy. Otherwise, he starts plotting...


Hey, it's a new story! Jeremy always gets what he wants.

Un-beta'ed, so quibble away.

- o – o -

Seven Rules for Ninjas

_One: Being unoccupied is bad_

Jeremy Baker was a kind, patient, understanding man. (He at least _tried_ to be, at any rate.) That being said, he could pinpoint the exact moment when he began plotting horrible, bloody, violent revenge on Miles Matheson for being a petty, whiny bitch who couldn't own up to his mistakes. It had all started when the captain, thinking he could get some paperwork done (and maybe filch some whiskey from Miles' private stash—what was left of it, anyways, as Bass had had the bottles crated and put somewhere where he wouldn't have to see them—in the meantime). Instead of an empty office, as he'd expected, Bass had been there.

The president of the Monroe Republic had been dressed casually in civilian attire, consisting of a pair of running shorts and an oversized blue shirt that Jeremy knew had once been Miles'. Bass was nursing a half-empty bottle of whiskey (not the good stuff, or Jeremy would have done something awful to his employer) and was looking forlornly at a stiff piece of paper in his hands. Jeremy recognized it, of course. It was the one photograph in the whole world of the three of them, as a couple, just…being happy. They'd been smiling, somewhat drunk, and just... It had been a good day for all three of them.

Jeremy was in the foreground of the picture, seated between Miles' legs and facing the camera. Miles was leaning back in his chair, grinning in a way that had taken years off his face. Bass was leaning over Miles' left shoulder, arms wrapped around Miles in a hug and grinning widely.

And then Bass looked up, saw him, and started crying. Not quiet, soft ones either. Bass had begun bawling like a little kid who'd gotten lost in a store or a park or something. He'd wailed loud enough to wake the dead, with big fat tears coursing down his cheeks. The picture had fluttered to the ground, forgotten.

That was about the time Jeremy decided Miles needed to be punished for being an asshole.

_Two: Always have a plan._

_The Plan_, as Jeremy called it, was relatively simple. He just had to walk through a rebel camp, kidnap Miles, drag him back through that same camp without getting caught, and then teach his former lover the error of his ways. The plan was simple. The execution would probably kill him.

Jeremy felt a curl of guilt settle in his gut as he drugged the whiskey, but brushed it away with the thought that it really _was_ for the best. Miles needed to learn that he couldn't be a petulant, whiny bitch when things didn't go his way. And if Jeremy had to be the one to explain that to him, well…

The barman that Jeremy entrusted the bottle of drugged whiskey to didn't ask any questions. If Jeremy had been in that man's position, he wouldn't have taken the bottle. He also wouldn't have given it to the commanding general (and if Miles _wasn't_ the commanding general, there was something unbelievably_ wrong_ with the rebels) without so much as check into the young, dashing refugee who'd given him the bottle.

Miles got the bottle anyways, and smiled when he saw the label.

Jeremy doubted Miles remembered the significance of the Baker's seven-year-old.

_Three: There is no such thing as too much rope._

Rope had a great many uses. You could tie a string of horses together, tie your supplies together, use it to hold a tent up…and you could tie stupid, drugged generals up if you wanted to keep them on your horse.

Jeremy had dragged a drugged, half-conscious Miles into a side alley where he'd stashed his horse an hour earlier. Miles had been struggling limply against his captor, but it hadn't done much. The captain had tied Miles' hands behind his back, hobbled him, and then held him face down in front of him on the ride out of the town the rebels had camped in.

Miles had struggled until the drugs (and Jeremy made a mental note to thank Julia for providing him with such a wonderful cocktail…later) took effect and knocked him out. He'd howled obscenities into his gag, threatening to do dire things to Jeremy if he wasn't let go in an instant. Jeremy had kept his free hand on the small of Miles' back during the ride back to Monroe's base camp, just to assure himself that Miles wasn't leaving.

He was most emphatically _not_ groping Miles ass.

_Four: Set the proper mood at all times._

Jeremy sat next to the bed he'd shared with Bass for four years, feet propped up on the edge of the mattress. He had a glass of whiskey in one hand (the good stuff, naturally) and a stack of reports on his lap. The one concession he'd granted to the low lighting and his age (he was only thirty-seven, damn it!) were a pair of reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. The captain hadn't been working on his reports, though—not for the last hour.

Miles was tied to the headboard of the sturdy bed by his wrists. He'd woken up a few minutes ago, shaking off the last of the sedative that had been in his whiskey. Ever since he'd woken up to discover that he'd been tied face down to the bed, he'd been swearing a mile a minute. The obscenities and threats of extreme physical violence were muffled by the gag shoved in his mouth. Jeremy thought the man looked good when he was tied up—although he did, of course, prefer a much more domineering Miles.

(If Miles agreed to stop being a petulant brat and start making sense, Jeremy would be quite happy to accept the reprimand he knew Miles would administer.)

Jeremy took the time to admire the view of the muscles in Miles' back and ass flexing as he strained in his bonds.

Some days, it was just good to be him.

_Five: More than one guest is a nuisance._

It had been part of Jeremy's plan to invite Bass in to help explain facts to Miles. The key word, of course, had been _invite_. Having Bass burst in, half-drunk and crazy, though… No, that had not been part of Jeremy's plan. He'd been hoping for a little more time to explain his plan. And, you know, get Bass used to the idea that Miles was tied to their bed. (That was the part he'd been hoping to pose to Bass calmly and quietly, possibly via courier so Bass couldn't hurt him.)

As it was… Well, Jeremy couldn't complain. Aside from being annoyed with his carefully constructed plan going to pieces, of course; Bass was like that these days. (Not that Jeremy blamed him. It was all Miles' fault.)

Bass took one look at Miles before he turned to Jeremy. There was a large smile on his face as he spoke.

"Is it Christmas already?"

Jeremy grinned.

_Six: Lessons are very rarely fun._

Jeremy cradled Miles' head in his lap, running his fingers through the man's shaggy brown hair. Miles' hands were tied to one of the posts now, mostly so that Jeremy could sit with his back against the headboard. Bass was…occupied. A lot.

The captain carded his fingers through Miles' hair, resting just behind the man's ear as Miles whimpered and twitched. Bass had had more than a bit to drink in the past few hours, and had taken some of Jeremy's suggestions to heart. Several years ago, Jeremy had been caught (kind of) rifling through Miles' private stash of whiskey—the good stuff. Instead of getting sent on patrol or shot—like what would have happened to anyone else—Miles had given him a spanking. Bass had enjoyed watching that part.

Now he was enjoying administering one. Miles' ass had turned a nice shade of red, and Jeremy's thigh was wet with tears. He rubbed Miles' cheek affectionately as Bass pressed a soothing kiss to one of Miles' reddened, sore buttocks. Miles pressed his face into the touch, eyes closed. His cheeks were still damp—mostly from humiliation, Jeremy guessed, but probably some pain too.

"Are you going to sit there all night?" Bass asked, staring at Jeremy. Jeremy shrugged, still petting Miles. He could see Bass' erection straining against his trousers, and knew his own body was mirroring the president's reaction to being in such close proximity of a very naked, somewhat debauched-looking Miles.

Seeing Miles in a submissive posture was somehow…wrong.

"I might," Jeremy said softly. His perfectly crafted plan of having sex with Miles until the man was so blitzed on endorphins and post-sex glow that he'd agree to anything was falling apart before his eyes. Just a little, anyways.

_Seven: Everything will work out…eventually_

Jeremy groaned and arched up, hands grasping at the sheets under him. Bass was evil. There was nothing else to say about the man. He whined in annoyance as Bass stopped sucking on his dick, straining up towards the man. Eight hours ago, his plan had been to screw Miles into submission—possibly letting Bass have the first round to himself. That had fallen through pretty fast.

He wondered how long it had been since Miles had had any company but his own hand. The thought was brushed aside as Miles' hips snapped forward, driving the captain into the thick mattress again. Then Bass was there, just as naked as Miles. Jeremy grinned and pressed light, tiny butterfly kisses along Bass' stomach, enjoying the sound of Bass' whispered pleas and promises as he was teased. The muscles in his stomach twitched under Jeremy's mouth, and he moved lower, pressing light kisses to Bass' hip and thigh.

"Stop….fucking…_teasing me_," Bass hissed, wrapping his hands in Jeremy's hair. Jeremy smiled up at Bass through his lashes, unable to reply coherently enough.

So, his original plan hadn't exactly worked.

Getting fucked hard and long by Bass and Miles (who'd finally stopped being a dumbass) was an alright alternative. Getting Miles to agree to come back had taken surprisingly little negotiation. Getting him to agree to stay had taken even less.

And no, Jeremy was _not_ using sex to get what he wanted.

Well...mostly.

- o – o -

So, umm... Actual porn. What did you think? Good? Bad? Is Jeremy sneaky or what? Drop a line and let me know.


End file.
